


To Roost All One Needs is a Branch

by lamentomori



Series: Everything Tends Towards Entropy [1]
Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 17:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13323177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: Everything is falling apart, and somehow the only person that seems to get Marty is a Ticking Timebomb that seems to be in the exact same position as Marty himself.





	To Roost All One Needs is a Branch

He aches. Every inch aches. Everything from his hair follicles to his toes throb with a dull pain that in the morning will settle into spikes of agony whenever he breathes. After his match, he’d grabbed his clothing bag, and skulked off to the nearest shower to lick his wounds. He’s not avoiding the locker room, except that he is. The sympathies of Bullet Club are short-lived and insincere at the best of times. After just losing a belt he just won, he’s no doubts that those sympathies will be non-existent.  So, he’s somewhere far from the dubious kindness of his stablemates, showering in solitude and silence. Silence which is broken when he can hear shoes on the wet tiles, and he knows who he wants them to belong to, but he knows even better that it’s not him. There is nothing more unlikely than him seeking Marty out to offer condolences, or better yet comfort.  So, he keeps his back turned, and wonders who it might be. Cody coming to commiserate, and to complain about Omega some more, or about Ibushi or a million other things that make Marty want to smack Cody over the head with an umbrella. Will coming to rub his victory in his face, but also to extend an olive branch because their rivalry is more of the sibling variety than either would like to admit. Kushida because who knows, but he seems nice, and seems to lack any concerns for the team politics of backstage. What team is he even on? CHAOS maybe, Zack’s team perhaps? It might even be Zack come for a catch up. That’d be nice. He’d relish having a chat with Zack. It’s been far too long since they’ve had time to just talk. He’s a list of bitching to be done, and no doubt Zack has a few things he’d like to get off his chest too.

“Didn’t you know that kitties eat birdies?” Any voice, except one other, would be more expected than the one that speaks. Marty screws his eyes shut, and wills the man who owns the voice to leave. Anyone would be less hard work than this.

“What the fuck do you want?” He snaps because it’s easer to snap and snarl at Takahashi than it is to deal with him like he was a real person. Takahashi never seems to act like the pleasantries of a polite society are something he needs to subscribe to, so there’s no reason Marty should give him those pleasantries. A low chuckle is all he gets in response, so Marty finally starts the task of bathing, rather than just standing under a warm stream of water, hoping it’ll wash whatever malaise is hanging over him away, rather than dealing with Takahashi.

“Do you think your senpai will ever notice you like Kitty’s notices him?” Takahashi asks in a bitterly teasing tone, and Marty is very glad his back is to the man. The Ticking Timebomb doesn’t need to see how deeply that comment cut. A softly cruel laugh fills the shower room. “I don’t suppose he will…poor little Birdie. Denied what he wants the most.” Takahashi sounds a little closer, and Marty spins on his heel, wanting to know exactly where the mad man is.

“Stay where you are, or I’ll kick your ass.” Marty warns him, brandishing a washcloth like it was a knife. Takahashi’s eyes flicker down his body, and then return to Marty’s face, determinedly not looking anywhere but at Marty’s eyes. Takahashi’s cheeks are _slightly_ tinged red, a little of his swagger gone. “What? Did you think I was a Barbie or something?” Marty laughs, and a mean little scowl twists Takahashi’s lips. Marty shakes his head, and starts washing his hair. He can feel Takahashi’s eyes on him, but he can’t help but feel that right now he has the upper hand. Takahashi can stare at his ass all he likes, Marty’s pretty sure he’s safe enough.

“He’s not going to notice you even if you waved your ass in his face.” There’s a bitter edge to Takahashi’s voice, and Marty laughs at him again. He knows damn well that his _senpai_ isn’t going to notice him in the way he’d like, but he’s not sure what Takahashi is trying to do by bringing that up. It’s nothing to do with anything in the long run. “Kitty is doing so much better than you, Birdie…but you should expect that.” Takahashi sounds closer again. Marty throws the washcloth over his shoulder, hoping it at least splashes the lunatic. “Kitties eat birdies... you shouldn’t take this defeat so hard.” The washcloth is draped over his shoulder, and Takahashi’s hand runs down Marty’s back.

“If you’re still in punching range when I get this shampoo out of my hair…” Marty leaves the threat open, because Takahashi seems to have taken the hint and moves away.

“You’ll watch?” The non-sequitur of a question is from the other side of the shower room, and Marty glances over his shoulder to confirm that Takahashi hasn’t learned to throw his voice. He’s leaning against the wall, his clothes slightly damp, his eyes trained on the floor, oddly like he’s giving Marty as much privacy as he can whilst invading his shower.

“I’ll watch what?” Marty rinses the last of the shampoo out of his hair, and starts washing quickly, wanting this shower over with, and away from Takahashi.

“Omega’s match.” Now that Marty has the answer to the question it seems silly to have asked it. Of course, that’s what Takahashi was talking about. His whole purpose for being here seems to be teasing, or mocking, Marty for his unfulfillable desires, it makes sense he’d ask about that match.

“You’ll be watching Naito’s, won’t you?” It’s as vague an answer as Takahashi deserves, and Marty switches the shower off, leaving him feeling awkwardly naked. With the water beating down on him, he’d felt protected if not clothed. Now, he’s oddly vulnerable and exposed.

“Ah…so you’ll be watching because you’re a good little _subordinate_?” Takahashi laughs at him, and throws him a towel. The glint that’s always in Takahashi’s eyes is there, burning bright as he watches Marty get dried quickly, and secure the towel around his waist.

“My hero.” Marty mutters. His comment draws an unexpectedly honest sounding laugh from Takahashi. Marty glances up at him, and gets a dismissive head shake. “So, you’re here because?” He asks bluntly, wanting _this_ to be resolved quickly. He should already be back in the locker room, but really, he’s not sure anyone will notice him not being there. It’ll be as it was when he left. Three camps, clustered in opposing corners. The Elite in one corner, lost in conversation, and excitement over The Bucks’ win and the upcoming match, ignoring everyone else. Brandi tending to Cody’s most pressing injury, his wounded pride. And what is beginning to look like everyone Tama Tonga is related to in the corner diagonal from The Elite, muttering darkly, and sparing no glances for Marty. There are fissures in Bullet Club, and Marty isn’t sure which side he should be on. He thinks he knows where he’ll end up, but he isn’t certain if he leans towards The Elite because, as Takahashi put it, he wants senpai to notice or not. Wanting the D from someone is a poor reason to follow them into a civil war, but Marty has the awful feeling for this particular dick he would.

“I’m here, because we’re…similar.” Takahashi smiles at him, his tongue flickering over his lips quickly.

“No, we aren’t.” Marty brushes past him, and starts rooting through the bag he’d left on the wooden bench in the changing area. Takahashi laughs, and Marty settles into pretending he’s not there, like he should have in the first place. He could already be out of here if he’d just pretended he couldn’t see or hear Takahashi.

“Everything is falling apart.” Takahashi speaks softly, and is far too close. His proximity raises goosepimples on Marty’s skin. “You’re not going to get what you want, and neither am I.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Marty smiles coolly, and pulls a shirt over his head.

“You won’t be.” It’s not a threat, it’s not a promise, it’s a bland observation of fact. “Your senpai is terribly good at not noticing anything at all. Not you. Not Cody. Not Tama.”

“He’s very good at noticing some things.” Marty grumbles, and sits to pull on a pair of socks. There’s a bruise on the end of one of his toes that he can’t work out where it came from. An odd bruise that’s gone straight to ugly green, and only hurts when he’s looking at it.

“But not you, not them, not threats. It’d be safer to…” Takahashi trails off, and Marty looks over at him. He’s sitting with his head bowed, his arms on his thighs, hands laced in the air. It’s the stillest, calmest pose he’s ever seen Takahashi in, and it seems he had more to say on this matter, but has changed his mind. Marty’s almost resentful of that. Takahashi is around the Japanese branch of Bullet Club more than Marty, even if he is in a different stable, he’s closer to them on a day to day basis, his insight might actually have been useful. “Naito’s going to lose.”

“Oh?” Marty tilts his head, watching Takahashi glare at his fingers. It seems like a strange diversion, and it throws Marty for a loop.

“Trust me.” Takahashi looks up, meets Marty’s eyes with some kind of bizarre honesty. Silence settles between them. Marty clad in nothing but a t-shirt and some socks, and Takahashi fully-clothed but seemingly naked in a more important way. If this is an important moment, or even truly an honest one, Marty can’t say. No matter what it is, it feels heavy and serious, and like it’s not what Takahashi had actually come there for. He looks mildly annoyed with himself.

“Hmm…maybe.” Marty pulls on his underwear, slaughtering the moment. “Naito loses, Omega wins.” Marty avoids using Kenny’s name as much as possible, even in his own head. His reasoning is stupid, but simple. Names are powerful, and he doesn’t need to be weaker in the face of his _senpai_.

“Ah…we agree.” Takahashi grins at him, the solemn, quiet expression replaced.

“So, you came here to what? Tell me that Will was always gonna beat me, I’m never getting the fuck I want, and that we agree on match predictions? Cause if that’s the case, I’m confused as fuck as to why you felt the need to bother.” Marty yanks on his jeans, and watches Takahashi watching him. For a second Takahashi looks confused, and Marty smirks at him. “Just dawned on you that this is weird even for you?” Marty ties his jeans, and sits back on the bench, biting back a laugh out of some unexpected kindness.

“I came here to offer you a different fuck, actually.” Takahashi stands, and presses a slip of paper into Marty’s hand. “Your senpai is never going to notice, and Will’s already has…neither one of us is getting what we want.”

“Oh…I see a reject’s bin pity fuck is why you’re here.” Marty laughs, and shoves a hand through his hair as he gets to his feet. His hair is still damp, and tangled, and he knows that his damned curls are going to be a horrific mess if he doesn’t conquer them soon. “Did you hope that fucking one Englishman would be the same as fucking another?” His fingers snag in a knot, and he curses under his breath. Takahashi plucks Marty’s hand from his hair, and smooths the tangled mess gently.

“I hope we both get a fuck out of this.” Takahashi pulls Marty closer by his collar, close enough for a kiss, but taps him on the end of his nose instead. “Silly Birdie…just because your senpai is blind to how pretty you are, doesn’t mean we all are.” Marty keeps his expression blank, and his arms at his side. A lack of reaction is the best weapon to wield against Takahashi usually. He’s suddenly pulled into a hug, Takahashi’s arms around him tightly, his chin on Marty’s shoulder. Another set of footsteps, bland Japanese greetings, the sound of a shower being turned on.

“Who was that?” Marty’s still trapped in the cage of Takahashi’s arms, still trapped with his back to whoever is now in the showers.

“Does it matter?” Takahashi isn’t letting him go. Instead, his arms tighten slightly, he inhales deeply, and his lips brush Marty’s temple. “Come and see me after the show, hmm?” With that he lets Marty go, and leaves the shower room. There’s no stunned pause, or moment of consideration for Marty. He shoves the slip of paper into his back pocket, and starts gathering his things into his bag. A glance into the showers, showed that it was no one in particular, some random young lion having a wash, and of all the people it could have been, that’s the best outcome. Some nobody seeing him being hugged by Takahashi is much better than it being literally anyone else.

As he tries to return to Bullet Club’s locker, he gets lost and winds up in Suzuki-Gun territory. He ends up getting his chat with Zack in the corridor, walking towards where the rest of Bullet Club are. The closer they get to that locker room, the less he wants to go in there. There’s nothing that’s going to greet him that’s going to make him as happy as talking to Zack. Being around Zack reminds him of being new to wrestling, and of being excited to do anything in the ring. Being in that locker room will remind him of the bruise on his toe.

“Oww.” Even thinking about the damn thing in passing makes it hurt enough to comment on, and Zack looks over at him. “It’s fucking stupid, but of everything, there’s a bloody shitty little bruise on my toe that hurts enough for me to want to cut it off.” Zack laughs at him, and throws his arm around Marty’s shoulders.

“You and your fucking toes.” Zack laughs again, and shakes his head, launching into a tale of stubbed toes and young Marty’s three in the morning ranting.

He ends up watching the Jericho match on a screen backstage with Zack. It’s good practice at being impassive for him. He winces at certain moments, but he’s sure that it’s at moments that anyone would wince at. He doesn’t scream, he doesn’t shout, he doesn’t even really seem overly affected on the outside at least. Inside he’s a mess, panicking over the blood, the chair shots, the tables, even the young lions he panics for because that’s the way he is, on the outside cool as a cucumber, on the inside a hot mess. He stays with Zack in front of their backstage screen to watch the last match too. Takahashi’s prediction lingering in the back of his mind. He doesn’t care if Naito loses. He’s not even sure that Takahashi cares if Naito loses, but the prediction is there, and somehow that feels like an important sliver of information to have.

Takahashi’s prediction comes true.

Zack leaves after the match, with the promise to catch up properly sometime soon. Once Zack’s out of sight Marty sits back on the uncomfortable metal chair, and watches Okada give a rousing speech. He knows maybe one in every ten words, but that doesn’t seem to matter. It’s a speech designed to motivate, to excite, to entice. He’s no idea who it’s supposed to rouse, but it is a rousing speech.

“You know, we’ve got our own locker room.” One half of the new IWGP Junior Heavyweight Tag Champions says as he sits down beside Marty. He glances over at Matt, and shrugs.

“Was talking to Zack, and I didn’t think he’d be welcome in Bullet Club territory.” Marty’s still watching the screen, Okada’s done talking and instead it’s his music playing people out of the building.

“Yeah…probably not.” Matt claps him on the shoulder. His hand rests there for a moment, and he squeezes lightly. “You okay?” This is the most anyone from Bullet Club is going to show in terms of concern, Marty knows that, but he can’t seem to bring himself to show anything but a grin.

“I’m fine. I’ll get Young William back next time.” He gets to his feet, and grabs his bag before Matt can think to dispute Marty’s statement.

On the approach to the locker room, Marty can hear an argument. By it’s sounds, it’s a stupid one, debating if it was a good or bad night for Bullet Club. He can settle that argument easily. It was a terrible night for Bullet Club, but a good one for The Elite. The Elite won their matches. Bullet Club lost theirs. That seems to be the line of argument Tama’s taking, but Nick is arguing that The Elite are Bullet Club, so it was a good night because Bullet Club has two championships still. Suspicious by their silence are his senpai and Cody. Marty’s sure that there’s going to be an explosion between them soon, and he wants to be nowhere near when it happens. Let fights over Ibushi happen when Marty’s safely away from it all, and back in England, where he can pretend that it’s not happening because he can’t see it, and there’s still hope for him to get the fuck from Omega he wants.

“You’re in, right, Marty?” Nick asks the question as soon as Marty opens the locker room door, before he’s had a chance to take in the chaos that’s inside. Cody, his wife, and his stuff are gone. Team Tama are lined up like they were ready for a fight. Nick is on the other side of the room by the door, surrounded by bags. Almost unsurprisingly, Omega’s nowhere to be seen.

“In for what?” Marty asks absently, pretending he doesn’t notice the implosion happening in front of him as he makes a beeline for his bag.

“A celebration dinner! We’re seven-time champs!” Matt’s suddenly too close, and too loud. His arm is over Marty’s shoulders, and he’s pointedly trying to pull him over to The Elite side of the locker room.

“Eh…maybe a celebration breakfast, lads.” Marty stuffs the last of his things into his bag, and glances over at Tama. The tall Tongan is watching him carefully. Marty’s trying to remain neutral in all of this, but he’s going to have to make a decision quickly, because shit and the fan are going to meet sometime soon.

“Breakfast sounds like a much better idea.” Marty takes a moment to let the sound of Kenny’s voice wash over him. Deep, rich, and tinged with pain. Its tone speaks to something in the pit of Marty’s soul, and he feels miserably weak around him. Somehow, his mere return seems to soothe the tension, and Tama stands down for now. It’s definitely a for now though, of that Marty has no doubts. Omega is a terrible leader. As Takahashi said, he doesn’t notice threats, which is a poor quality for a leader to have. Marty zips his bag closed, and is about to haul it up over his shoulder when a light touch on his arm has all of his attention. In that moment his senpai is noticing him, and that’s the only thing that matters. “You’ll get it back.” A smile, and a gentle touch, that’s all it takes to make every unkind thing he’s ever thought about this man vanish.

“You should shower…you’re…” Marty waves his hand awkwardly, trying to encompass the fact that Kenny is sweaty, bloody, and far too close for Marty to be able to think properly.

“Gross?” Kenny laughs, and Marty doesn’t argue, he shoulders his bag and offers his best neutral smile. Omega pushes the locker room door open, and holds it for him, following Marty out into the corridor. He looks at him, and Marty stands as straight as he can, trying to meet whatever criteria Kenny’s laying out for him in his head. He touches Marty’s shoulder, squeezes firmly, and pulls him into a hug. “You did good.” He murmurs, and in that moment Marty feels like he’s full. What he’s full of he couldn’t say, but it’s good. It’s a feeling he wants forever, but too soon Kenny lets him go, and Marty can’t look him in the eye. There’s an awkward silence, before Kenny ruffles his hair. “You’re looking as much of a mess as me, Marty.”

“Yeah…it’s been…it’s been a weird night, you know?” Marty meets his eyes, and Kenny looks like he knows exactly what Marty means. Not just the obvious things, but like he knows _exactly_ why Marty’s night’s been weird.

“Get some rest.” Kenny pushes the locker room door open, but hesitates before going in. Marty wishes he could _talk_ to this man and find out if he is as oblivious as he seems. He has to know that there’s chasms building in Bullet Club because of him, he _must_. “I liked your wings, my little crow.” Omega slips into the locker room, and Marty freezes. _My_. A claim. One that Kenny won’t make good on, but one all the same.

The walk out of the Tokyo Dome is long. The CHAOS locker room is a typhoon of joyous sounds, which is understandable, they’ve much to celebrate. Suzuki-Gun seem to have cleared out already, there’s no sign of them where Marty had bumped into Zack earlier. Ingobernables territory is by the door, and Marty wants to get past it without hassle, or more accurately without Takahashi. He makes it all the way past the locker room door, before it slams open, and an entirely apathetic looking Naito storms past him. Everything about him bristles with contradiction. His posture is jagged and furious, but his face bland and uninterested.

“Come home with me, Birdie.” Takahashi’s arm slips around Marty’s waist before he’s even had a chance to fully process what’s going on.

“I will elbow you in the dick if you don’t let me go.” He snarls. Takahashi chuckles softly, and doesn’t let go. He starts walking, pullIing his suitcase and Marty with him.

“Everything is falling apart.” He mutters, tugging Marty a little closer. It’s the second time he’s said that tonight, and it makes no more sense to Marty now than it did when he first said it.

“What the fuck does this have to do with that?” He tries to pull away, but Takahashi holds him tightly. “Let me go.”

“Come with me.” Takahashi keeps walking, his arms still firmly around Marty.

“Let me go, and I’ll come with you.” He says it offhandedly, determined to not let Takahashi know how little he likes being restrained like this. Takahashi stops suddenly, and takes his arm away. He regards Marty thoughtfully, and thrusts his toy cat at him. “I don’t want it.” He throws the cat, and instinctually Marty catches it. Takahashi grins at him. “Who throws a cat?” Marty mutters, keeping the stuffed toy close to his chest.

“C’mon.” Takahashi jerks his head in the direction he wants them to go, and Marty considers throwing the damn cat at Takahashi’s back, and heading to his own hotel, but really who throws a cat. “Did he notice you for a moment, Birdie? Is that why you’re smiling?” Marty can feel his lips form a sneer, and the desire hurtle the stupid toy in his hand at Takahashi’s head is almost overwhelming. Takahashi turns to him with a smirk, and stalks up to Marty. “If I were him…if I knew everything was falling apart, I’d offer just a little attention to those I could keep too.” Marty smacks the cat off Takahashi’s head, but keeps a hold of it as he turns on his heel, heading for his own hotel. He makes it ten steps before Takahashi’s arm is about his waist, and guiding him in the opposite direction. He could break free. He could get out of this very easily, but he hasn’t, and he isn’t sure why. He should leave, but instead he quietly lets Takahashi put him in a car, and doesn’t say anything as Takahashi pulls away from the Tokyo Dome. Instead, he sits quietly staring down at the cat in his hands. Takahashi glances over at him a few times, but doesn’t say anything. Marty closes his eyes, and keeps a tight grip on the cat.

Marty didn’t know he’d fallen asleep until he’s woken by the sound of Takahashi muttering to himself about strange birds that like cats too much. He stays still, wondering what Takahashi will do with him now. Takahashi huffs a dramatic sigh, and pulls the cat from Marty’s hands.

“You’ll hurt him.” Marty doesn’t open his eyes just yet, instead he rubs the sleep from them, and hopes he’s not been driven to the middle of nowhere.

“What kind of stupid bird defends a cat?” Takahashi is leaning against a wall beside the car, a distant look on his face when Marty finally opens his eyes.

“The same kind of stupid bird that lets a lunatic kidnap him, I guess.” Marty shrugs, and gets out of the car. It’s silly, but he feels the need to stretch, and to try and fill as much space as he can. It’s probably a symptom of being a short man, but he often wants to try and take up as much space as possible. He wants to be noticed, and usually it works. Usually the people Marty wants to notice him do. He makes a successful grab for the stuffed cat, and holds it loosely in one hand. “We’re good at match predictions.” He grins over at Takahashi, suddenly uncomfortable with only his own thoughts in his head. The Ticking Timebomb has never seemed like a more appropriate nickname than in that moment. There’s a fuse inside Takahashi that’s smouldering away, and Marty is going feel the full force of the explosion, for good or ill. “So…you’re going to fuck me in a car park?” The blunt question draws Takahashi back from wherever his thoughts had led him.

“No, no…my bed.” He smiles, but it’s a vague smile, still half lost in a maze of bleak thoughts. “C’mon.” He takes Marty’s hand, and leads him towards the lift.

“He did.” Marty says after a moment, and Takahashi looks over at him in confusion. “You asked earlier if he noticed me for a minute, and yeah, he did.” Takahashi nods slightly, and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “Does senpai ever notice you anymore?” It’s not what Marty had meant to say, but it gets a reaction. Takahashi looks at him with fire in his eyes.

“No.” He shakes his head, and pulls Marty into the lift, then into a kiss. It’s not the most elegant kiss Marty’s been part of, but it is good, and as honest as a kiss can be. Neither of them are kissing who they want to be, but that’s okay, because they’re kissing someone who understands. When they part Takahashi is staring at him like Marty’s done something unexpectedly excellent. “You’re a clever little Birdie.” He pats Marty very gently on the head, and taps the end of his nose again.

“Sure.” Marty rolls his eyes, and starts reading the advertisements plastered all around the lift. They seem to mostly be for scantily clad ladies and delivery services, maybe a combination of the two in some cases. Takahashi is still staring at him, but that’s just something Takahashi does. It’s a tactic, something he does to unnerve people. It stopped working on Marty a long time ago. “Is senpai ignoring your crazy ass why you’re interested in Young William?” That clearly catches Takahashi off guard, and he blinks stupidly at Marty.

“Is it so strange that someone would be interested in a talented young man?” It’s evasion, Marty knows that, and by the look on his face, Takahashi does to, but he’s committed to his statement now. Marty shakes his head with a wry smile, and doesn’t comment further. Takahashi snatches his stuffed cat back from where it was dangling from Marty’s hand. “I would like my senpai to pay attention to me, but it’s not going to happen now.”

“And he doesn’t even have a briefcase to throw at you anymore.” Marty laughs, and finds himself pressed against the wall of the lift as it arrives at the right floor. Takahashi shoves him out, and stands glaring at him as the lift is summoned elsewhere. “At least he threw something at you. That’s more than I get most of the time.” Marty shrugs, and once more he’s pressed against a wall with Takahashi’s forearm over his throat. Takahashi stares at him, and Marty stares back, waiting for something to happen. From up the corridor comes the sound of someone leaving their home, and approaching them. A nervous looking middle-aged man in a woollen jumper, corduroys and slippers shuffles up to the lift, desperately trying to avoid making eye-contact with either one of them. He mashes the button frantically, and Marty pulls Takahashi down into a kiss. As he’d expected, Takahashi kisses him like his life was depending on it, robbing Marty of air and reason, leaving him moaning into the kiss and panting softly when it’s over. The middle-aged man all but leaps into the lift when it finally arrives, and when he looks up as the doors close, Marty winks at him with as lewd a smile as he can muster.

“Look at me like that.” Takahashi murmurs in Marty’s ear. “That face…give it to me.” Marty laughs at him, and catches a glimpse of his reflection in the lift doors.

“Let’s go before I go all Buffalo Bill.” Marty laughs. He’d definitely fuck himself for a look like that. Takahashi gives him a blank stare, and starts down the corridor. The apartment they end up in almost brutally plain. The walls are blandly cream, the furniture the colour of porridge, the only splash of colour is a muted brown rug. “Who did you kill to get the key for this place?” It’s so far removed from what Marty would expect from Takahashi’s home that it’s almost funny.

“No-one.” Takahashi tosses the stuffed cat onto the couch, and grabs Marty. “C’mon. Bed.” The bedroom looks more appropriate. Starkly white, but with streaks of vibrant colours all over the walls, a reasonable sized bed in the middle that’s brilliantly white, and deep red carpet on the floor. Unlike the bland living room, this looks like Takahashi’s room.

“Uh…” Marty stalls, which isn’t like him, but he has no idea what exactly they’re going to do. He’s not sure to who’s desires they’re catering here. Does Takahashi want him to play at Will, or would he rather Marty tried his hand at senpai-ing. Takahashi looks confused, and Marty sighs as he sits on the end of the bed. “What are we doing here?”

“Fucking?” Takahashi removes his shirt, coats and shoes already left at the door “You have a preference?” Takahashi drops to his knees in front of Marty and pulls him into a kiss. “Because I want to fuck you.” He says it slowly, and clearly, leaving Marty with no doubts as to what Takahashi wants to happen. Marty nods slightly, and still has no idea what Takahashi expects from him, but at least he knows what he’s going to do to him.

“Sure.” Marty pulls away, and gets to his feet, shedding his clothes. He folds each piece carefully, and leaves them in a pile on the dresser. Takahashi laughs at him, and pulls the rest of his clothes off, tossing them haphazardly to one side. “I need to wear these tomorrow, you have a wardrobe to choose from.” Marty stalks across the room, and wraps his arms around Takahashi’s neck. Smoothly, as though they’d discussed it previously, Takahashi takes hold of his waist, and pulls him closer, drawing him into a kiss. Takahashi breaks the kiss by throwing Marty onto the bed, and barks a laugh at whatever expression Marty’s wearing. Marty guesses it’s indignation, because that’s what he feels at being tossed around like he was that poor toy cat.

“Your feathers are all ruffled, Birdie.” Takahashi laughs, and lunges at him. He feels like he’s being attacked. Takahashi is rough, bordering on too, but not crossing that line, just dancing on the edge where Marty will feel his touches and kisses, that are all but bites, in the morning. He’d almost be content to lay passive under this assault, but his ego won’t let him. So, he scrapes his nails up Takahashi’s back, drawing a hiss from him, that Marty ignores, and he tugs his mouth closer for another kiss.

“You do have protection, right?” Marty spreads his legs, and lets Takahashi settle between them. He’s briefly flattened by Takahashi clambering over him to get a bottle of lube, and a condom. “Oh goodie. Let’s get on with this then.”

“Such a romantic, Marty.” The sound of his actual name startles Marty. Takahashi is watching him as he coats his fingers in lube. He strokes the thumb of his dry hand over Marty’s lips. “I know your name, Birdie.” He smirks, and circles Marty’s asshole. “Do you know mine?” Marty narrows his eyes as Takahashi teases penetrating him, but doesn’t. “Do you?”

“I know your name.” Marty rolls his hips, and summons his best _fuck me_ smile. Takahashi’s finger breaches him, drawing a quietly desperate moan from Marty. “Hiromu, more.” Takahashi looks slightly shocked, as though he’d assumed Marty was lying about knowing his name.  A firm prod to his prostate has Marty making an odd little noise he’s never heard before. Takahashi laughs at him, and Marty considers kicking Takahashi out of the way and prepping himself. It would save time, and his ego. Takahashi presses a very gentle kiss to Marty’s cheek. He murmurs something into Marty’s ear, something low, rumbling and in Japanese he can’t even guess at. Another finger enters him, and Takahashi spreads him open carefully. Another soft kiss to his cheek, but a little closer to his mouth.

“One more should be enough.” Takahashi tells him, but Marty’s not really listening, his eyes are closed, his mind lost in trying to imagine the fingers inside him longer, thinner, and more delicate. Kenny has beautiful fingers, and Marty is fixated on thinking of them. He gasps when a third finger is inside of him, pants softly as the fingers in him spread, and stretch, and tease him. A quick kiss to his temple, and then all off three of the fingers are pulled out. He whines, and then moans at the press of a cock to his asshole. The first inch inside him has him moaning once more, clinging to the body over him, mentally cursing at how hard it is to imagine Takahashi as Kenny. He’s too soft, too small, too short. Marty opens his eyes, tired with trying to pretend. He’s not going to get the fuck he wants, so he may as well enjoy the fuck he’s getting. Takahashi’s eyes are screwed shut, his face pressed against Marty’s neck.

“Will’s taller than me, Tetsuya too.” It’s a little cruel to point out, but Marty’s a prideful man, and being aware he’s being ignored in favour of a fantasy isn’t something he’s interested in. Takahashi opens his eyes, and mouths at Marty’s neck. “Don’t slobber on me.” He raps on Takahashi’s shoulder, and pulls his face close enough to kiss.

“What should I do then?” Takahashi pulls back a little, and then thrusts into Marty as firmly as he can, burying his cock inside Marty. Marty groans, and clings desperately to Takahashi, trying to adjust to being so suddenly filled. “Should I have asked Ibushi for tips on how Omega fucks for you?” He sounds annoyed, and Marty can’t help but breathlessly laughing at him. Takahashi looks seconds away from demanding Marty not laugh at him or leave, so Marty pulls him into a kiss.

“Please, Takahashi Hiromu, fuck me.” Marty’s smirking, and Takahashi is only mildly glaring back at him. He seems to realise what Marty was admittedly clumsily doing. He’s paying enough attention to know who’s fucking him, and he expects the same from Takahashi.

“Am I supposed to be impressed you know my full name, Martin?” Takahashi starts moving, slow and smooth. The sort of fucking that has Marty’s toes curling, and his mind briefly flickering to the ugly green bruise on his toe. “Your Ls are hard for me to say…but I know your surname.” Takahashi mutters in his ear, and Marty laughs softly. “Hey! Don’t laugh at me over how difficult your name is, Scrurru.

“I was thinking about a bruise.” Marty wraps his legs around Takahashi, trying to force him into moving faster. He gives Marty a strange look, and speeds up. Marty presses his head back against the pillows, exposing his throat to Takahashi. He’s almost disappointed when all he gets is a gentle kiss to his Adams apple and not the bite he was half-hoping for.

“No bruises…we’re working tomorrow.” Takahashi’s lips brush Marty’s throat as he speaks. His voice is heavy with the promise that if they weren’t wrestling tomorrow, there would be bruises. Maybe next time, if there is a next time there can be bruises. Marty’s quite certain that having sex with Takahashi and not coming out bruised and sore is missing out on the full experience, at least based on the pace he sets. His thrusts are fast, and firm. His hands cling, his lips move over Marty’s neck like he’s desperate to put a mark there, but restraining himself. Marty clings on, and encourages as much as he can. He’s not often on the bottom of a fuck, but when he is, he tries to be as involved and enthusiastic as he can. He uses the little leverage he has to pull himself into each of Takahashi’s thrusts, he tangles his fingers in Takahashi’s hair and draws him into desperate, searing kisses. It’s frantic, and messy, and everything Marty would expect fucking Takahashi Hiromu to be.

Eventually, Takahashi’s thrusts slow in speed, but there’s more strength behind them. He drives deeper into Marty each time, almost as though he was seeking to make them one person. When he comes, it’s with his mouth against Marty’s neck, his breath hot and damp. Takahashi lies motionless on top of Marty so long, he’s worried that he’s fallen asleep. Marty moans, and squirms, trying to make it clear that he’s not finished. His cock is still hard, and he wants to reach his own end. Reluctantly, Takahashi pulls away, and gets off the bed to remove the condom. He tosses it into a dark corner, hopefully into a bin, but really Marty doesn’t care. Takahashi takes his cock in hand, and begins to stroke him. He’s close, desperately close.

“ _Please_.” Marty’s close, desperately close, so close he’s not above begging. Takahashi starts murmuring into Marty’s ear. Low, deep murmurs, almost as low and as deep as Marty has imagined Kenny would sound in bed. That thought has his orgasm charging through him, his hips thrusting into Takahashi’s tight hand. He’s no idea what happened to his cum, and in all honesty, doesn’t care. Takahashi’s hands are dry, and cum free as they gather him close, and pull the blankets over them. He smothers a yawn against Marty’s shoulder, and settles down to sleep. Marty stares at the ceiling, trying to follow the trails of colour in the darkness. He feels almost guilty for thinking of Kenny in those last moments before he came, but Takahashi wasn’t looking at him when he came either. It doesn’t matter, not in the long run, but it feels rude on some fundamental level that makes Marty want to apologise. Takahashi shifts beside him. His arm snakes under Marty and pulls him closer by the waist.

“You’re supposed to have been fucked to sleep.” He bites Marty’s earlobe, trying to assert his desire for all of Marty’s attention. Takahashi is right though, he should be asleep. It was a long day. A longer night. And both of them were filled with weirdness that Marty would like to sleep away. If only a good night’s sleep would fix Bullet Club.

“Everything’s falling apart.” Marty laughs, and shoves mess of Bullet Club to one side. It’ll fall apart, and he’ll end up where he will. No amount of worrying in Takahashi’s bed will hold things together. Takahashi turns his face, and stares into Marty’s eyes. He traces a finger over Marty’s lips, then taps him on the end of his nose. They are the same. In that moment Marty is grimly aware that he and Takahashi share far too many things in common. But right now, that doesn’t matter. Their problems can wait until they leave bed, maybe even the apartment.

“Yeah, it usually is. Go to sleep. It’ll still be falling in the morning, little Birdie.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, but enjoy what I did instead of packing to go home over Spring Festival.


End file.
